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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24298816">Voracity</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevansa/pseuds/sevansa'>sevansa</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A study in monstrosity [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blind!Jon, Families of Choice, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Unreliable Narrator, discussion of mutilation, everyone in the institute needs a therapist, no character bashing allowed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:02:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,555</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24298816</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevansa/pseuds/sevansa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon is trying to deal with his blindness. It's slightly easier with some help, it would also be much easier if he didn't have to deal with quite so much scheming.<br/>Or<br/>The one where everyone is just So Tired and Elias is still a pain in the ass.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Basira Hussain &amp; Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist &amp; Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Melanie King &amp; Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A study in monstrosity [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1754146</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>123</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>413</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jon is sitting on Georgie’s couch after he’s been promptly delivered by Basira.</p><p>As in, actually delivered.</p><p>Basira, who had appointed herself their unofficial caretaker, was taking Daisy to her PT appointment, and while that in itself isn’t unusual, it was her insistence that Jon couldn’t be left alone in their newly acquired apartment that was odd.  </p><p>She had led him up the stairs and down the corridor, keeping a firm hand on his elbow all the while, she didn’t leave until Georgie opened the door and the hand on his arm was replaced with another. And ensuring that her package was delivered safely, she was gone.</p><p>Jon is feeling distinctly handled and he’s unsure about how to feel about it.</p><p>On one hand, he’s… very grateful that he’s not going through this experience alone— blindness… is a very daunting experience, but on the other hand, it feels like he can't get a single moment to himself, he’s always watched, always seen, and while the sensation is one that he’s familiar with, it’s still stifling.</p><p>And it’s not even an exaggeration, he really hasn’t got any moment alone. It's like everyone is repenting for the months they spent doing their absolute damndest to not spend more time than necessary around Jon.</p><p>And Jon is… he could only be happy about that change in behavior.</p><p>It has been a very lonely, very… horrific couple of months. Ones that he's rather pleased are far, far, behind him and while he’s grateful for the mass change of heart, he would kill (not really, he doesn't want to kill anyone. ever. he’s trying not to be so monstrous anymore) to get some time to himself.</p><p>So, there he is, sitting on Georgie’s couch and contemplating his life-choices that lead to this moment.</p><p>“Jon I'm gonna get some groceries, you want anything?”</p><p>“No, thank you Georgie, I'm all right.” he says after a pause and tries not to feel like someone was listening in on his thoughts. He’s… pretty sure that only the Eye is capable of reading someone’s thought, and he’s reasonably sure that the Eye can’t mind-control people into doing its bidding, that’s more the Web’s forte.</p><p>This is stupid. He’s being paranoid.</p><p>“Ok, I won't be long, and Melanie is in the studio inside if you need anything.” she says in that careful soft voice, the one that Jon abhors but tries his hardest not to be a dick about.</p><p>“You know I won’t actually die if you leave me unsupervised for a couple of hours. “He says irritably, uh… so the whole not being a dick thing is still a work in progress</p><p>Georgie is silent.</p><p>Jon exhales softly from his nose and throws his head back on the couch, the soft thump is in no way painful and Jon feels like an ass. He opens his mouth to apologize, but Georgia speaks over him, “don't even joke about that, Jonathan Sims.” she says frigidly and the door slams behind her.</p><p>Jon groans.</p><p>The Admiral jumps on his lap and manages to startle the ever-loving fuck out of him. He settles quickly when he hears the cat’s familiar meow, “You and me both, good Sir, you and me both. “</p><p>“You talking to yourself again?”</p><p>“The Admiral.” he says turning towards the sound of Melanie's voice and hoping his face, covered as it is in bandages, shows how not impressed he is.</p><p>“Yeah? and is he answering back?”  she asks, probably just because she's being a bitch.  His relationship with Melanie is… complicated.</p><p>It's been a week since the whole… mutilation thing, and while they're not as antagonistic as before, they’re still diametrically opposed character-wise, it's taking a bit getting used to, especially with their… Get Georgie On The Mutilation Train side project.</p><p>Yeah, they should come up with a better name.</p><p>“like you don't speak to him on occasions” Jon says and keeps giving the Admiral the scritches he deserves.</p><p>“’am not admitting to anything.” Melanie says and Jon imagines that she’d be shrugging, or maybe running her hand through her hair, vividly blue and freshly buzzed sides.</p><p>He misses his eyes. Viscerally.  </p><p>She moves closer, her steps louder than they ought to be and for that Jon is grateful. It is still difficult, getting used to not seeing his surroundings, having to rely on his other senses to tell what is and isn’t safe, when is or isn’t he alone.</p><p>It’s a work in progress.</p><p>She throws herself on the couch and Jon is prepared for it, but he’s still surprised when it happens, Melanie doesn't mention it, 'cause even when they hate each other’s guts (which they don't anymore –at least he doesn't think they do?)  She is not that much of an asshole.</p><p>“What are you doing anyway?”  She's stretching, he can tell from the frankly alarming pops coming from her joints.</p><p>And Jon is reminded of the Braille textbook he's supposed to be making his way through.</p><p>Martin was the one to get him the books, he’d shyly presented Jon with them a couple of days ago and Jon was… Jon was pleased. The other man might have gone a bit overboard with it though, a lot of them are too advanced for for him to even attempt, seeing as he’s still stuck learning the alphabets all over again.</p><p>He is definitely not bitter about that.</p><p>Nope.</p><p>“That bad, huh?” Melanie asks when the silence persists, she reaches over to run her fingers through the Admiral’s fur as well and he can’t help but notice the tone of apprehension there, the faint wobble in her voice.</p><p>“Getting cold feet?” He says and it’s meaner than he intends. Maybe. He knows he’s being a dick, but-</p><p>And it's not like he can judge her for backing down.</p><p>He's not sure he’d choose to go through with it, if he still had the luxury of choice.</p><p>Chasing that thought is a reminder of the Hunger, the weakness, the <em>loneliness. </em>And no.</p><p>No.</p><p>He would have done it again.</p><p>“Oh, fuck you.” She says, vicious and low, she snatches her hand away from the Admiral’s fur and Jon leans away from her, irrational fear settling its way deep in his stomach.</p><p>Jon swallows and turns on the couch to face (he assumes he’s facing her) Melanie properly. His hands are shaking, and he wonders if Melanie notices.</p><p>“I- That was out of line, I- apologize.” And the words are soft, sincere.</p><p>There is silence, and it’s angry.</p><p>“Whatever” She mutters eventually, sullen.</p><p>She doesn’t leave though and Jon wonders if it’s because she doesn’t<em> want </em>to leave or if she’s just that diligent in her part of the not leaving Jon alone for a second agreement.</p><p>The silence persists and it is heavy in a way that is frankly uncomfortable, this is the exact type of situations that Jon would have long since abandoned with a bullshit excuse but can’t now 'cause getting around is fucking terrifying. So, he’s stuck here, getting tenser by the second, and reminding himself that Melanie Will. Not. Attack. Him.</p><p>At least not while he’s holding the Admiral.</p><p>Melanie heaves an explosive sigh and Jon’s fingers tighten in the Admiral’s fur instinctively, he gets an offended hiss in response, Jon quickly relaxes his grip muttering ‘sorry’ under his breath, it’s not clear if it’s directed at the Admiral or Melanie, the Admiral swipes at him with his claws and jumps off his lap, clearly offended.</p><p>Jon tries not feel the loss acutely.</p><p>“You're not wrong though” she says, -admits- “it's fucking terrifying.”</p><p>Jon huffs a slightly hysterical laugh.</p><p>“Can’t be scarier than the Archives,” he says, bitter and very, very, real.</p><p>A second of silence then,</p><p>“Ugh, you’re right. I hate it” she says all theatrical and put upon.</p><p>And Jon is starting to see why Georgie likes Melanie so much, she grows on you. Like a fungus.</p><p>“What's been going on there anyway?” he asks as nonchalantly as he can.</p><p>“Have no idea, I haven't been there in- “she cuts off suddenly and Jon frowns, the bandages shifting with the movement, reminding him of their existence.</p><p>“Melanie?” he prompts, worried.</p><p>“Uh- Yeah, I’m here, I just… I realized something.” She says, her voice sounding far away and not all there, Jon’s worry ratchets a million degrees up.</p><p>“Are you ok?” He asks and can't help the anxiety in his voice.</p><p>“Yeah- yeah I just- “she stands up abruptly. “-There’s something I’ve got to check. Just. stay here, yeah?” and with that very vague and unhelpful comment, Melanie is gone. She ignores every question Jon manages to ask, he even risks getting off the couch and making his unsteady way towards the sound of her activity.</p><p>“Melanie- “He says but is cut off by the sound of the front door slamming closed, and Jon is… he seems to have gotten his wish after all.</p><p>It is not as relaxing as he thought it would be.</p><p>That was weird? Right? But is it… entity weird? Is this alarming enough to warrant him calling anyone? Or is he just being paranoid? He’s running through all the entities in his head, thinking of what could have happened to allow this sudden dismissal of the Jon Suicide/Mutilation Watch rotation.</p><p>It's most certainly nothing.</p><p>She might have… left the stove on in her apartment or something… except that Melanie lives with Georgie- right- maybe…</p><p>She’s definitely not being controlled by the Web.</p><p>She’s not.</p><p>The Web would never be as obvious, as crass. He thinks with a shudder.</p><p>He’s not sure how long he spent alone in Georgie’s flat, but it was enough that he’s a bit lost in his head, it takes him a second to register the knock.</p><p>Someone’s knocking on the door.</p><p>Jon hesitates for a second, but he stands up nevertheless and makes his way towards the front door, it takes him a couple of minutes to reach the front door but whoever knocked on the door is surprisingly patient, so Jon doesn’t feel too bad about it.</p><p>“Who’s there?” He says, because contrary to popular belief, Jon is not an idiot, and he does have an iota of self-preservation. It's very well hidden, but it exists.</p><p>Sometimes.</p><p>“It's me- uh- Martin.” The voice clarifies when he realizes how incredibly vague ‘it's me’ is as an identification and Jon can’t help the fond quirk of his lips, he carefully cracks the door open.</p><p>“Hello, Martin” He says moving out of the way to allow the other man to enter.</p><p>“Hi Jon.” He says and it’s soft. Happy.</p><p>It also sounds tired.</p><p>Jon frowns.</p><p>“What's wrong?” He says, suddenly an edge once more.</p><p>The emotional whiplash is not good for his health.</p><p>“Uh- nothing? nothing's wrong. Why do you say that?” Martin says and he sounds honestly curious.</p><p>“You sound off.”  Jon mutters, suddenly unsure of his assumption. He’d assumed that he would be able to tell what everyone is feeling from their tone, but… it’s not like he was the best at discerning human emotions even when he had his sight, but he thought that he would at least be able to tell when his… Martin is feeling off.</p><p>The realization that he might not is jarring.</p><p>Martin puts a gentle hand on his shoulder and Jon doesn't even startle. There’s that at least. Jon leans into the touch and allows himself to be led back to the couch, frowning all the while.</p><p>“huh, uh well, I a<em>m </em>alright, it’s just… work, you know.” Martin says, and Jon can feel Martin shrugging from where they’re almost pressed together.</p><p>Jon says nothing and hopes his silence is enough for Martin to elaborate. Unsurprisingly, he does. Martin isn’t good at silences.</p><p>“It’s Just- Peter’s gone, you know, and I was supposed to be his assistant and now that he’s gone, mine is the position with the most authority in the Institute? And now everyone is sending me so many reports and requests and I have no idea where to even start and- and- I’m still not even sure if Peter was just stringing me along on the Extinction thing or if there is really a 15<sup>th</sup> power and we’re going to wake up suddenly to a zombie apocalypse right on our front doors!” He finally bursts out, the rant gaining more momentum the more he goes, and Jon should really be sympathetic but-</p><p>“A zombie apocalypse” Jon says, and he can’t help the amusement sneaking its way along his words.</p><p>“Yes, Jon, zombies. They’re horrible and they probably smell, and I’m not cut out for an Apocalypse, Jon.”</p><p>“You'd be surprised.” He mutters under his breath.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Nothing. Go on, you were saying, zombies?” and he tries not to be too amused, Martin <em>does</em> sound a tad overwhelmed, he leans in close to the soft warmth emanating from the man -it’s still not the normal level of warmth one would expect of a normal human, the Lonely is a leech and is just as difficult to be rid of, a part of Jon wonders if Martin would forever have a part of the Lonely within him.</p><p>Still, Martin is fighting, and he’s doing a rather spectacular job at it.</p><p>“You're enjoying this” Martin accuses, and Jon finally lets a full smile grace his face.</p><p>“I'm sorry, Martin.”  he said through a smile.</p><p>And Martin sighs, but he sounds fond, “No, you’re right. I'm being ridiculous- “He agrees good naturedly and shifts so that Jon is leaning more comfortably against him, “-where are Georgie and Melanie anyway?” He asks and it's not obvious to Jon if it's to change the subject or if he genuinely hadn’t noticed their absence until then.</p><p>One option is more flattering than the other.</p><p>Jon shrugs.</p><p>“Georgie is getting groceries, I- I'm not sure about Melanie though.” He says.</p><p>“They left you alone?”  Martin says and yep, there’s the babying.</p><p>“I'm not an actual infant, Martin.” He says and tries not to sound too snippy.</p><p>“Yeah but you're- “He trails off and Jon tenses.</p><p>“I'm what?” He bites out, righting himself and putting some distance between them, his mind is going on, on tangents, invalid, useless, can't even open a fucking door in a timely manner-</p><p>Martin takes in a sharp breath. “Jon I- I didn’t mean- I just- what if something happened? What if someone attacked you? I just- I worry, sometimes, Jon. I’m sorry I didn’t mean anything, I just…sorry.”</p><p>Jon is holding himself too stiffly and they remain in the unhappy silence for a while before Jon relents</p><p>And.</p><p>Fine.</p><p>Jon is being uncharitable.</p><p>He lets out a sigh and resists the urge to rub at his face. “No- No, you didn’t do anything, I’m sorry Martin.” He says, he’s really acing the not being a dick thing, isn’t he?</p><p>“Do you- do you want to talk about this?” Martin offers.</p><p>And Jon feels like trash.</p><p>“I’d rather not. Tell me more about work?” He says wanting to change the subject desperately.</p><p>There is a second of silence where Jon doesn’t think Martin would go along with it, but then the other man sighs and just- talks.</p><p>It’s hesitant at first but quickly gains steam and Jon finds himself slowly relaxing back into Martin’s side and letting the words wash over him.</p><p>This is nice.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It’s only when Georgie comes back and asks about Melanie, that reality comes crashing back on them.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>chapter 2, AKA the Basira interlude.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Basira is busy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There are so many things that require her attention, so many people that require watching over she's running a bit ragged. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And she knows. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows </span>
  </em>
  <span>that both Daisy and Jon are adults who could take care of themselves, but look what happened when she didn't give Jon the attention, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>support </span>
  </em>
  <span>he needed? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s making her a bit irrational, the guilt, that sick heavy feeling in her chest, the painful squeeze of her heart, it’s an overwhelming sensation that makes it extremely hard to be logical, a sensation that she’s not eager to have amplified any time soon. What happened to Jon- What Jon </span>
  <em>
    <span>did- </span>
  </em>
  <span>she’s not self-centered enough to think that it was all her fault. But she is self-aware enough to realize that she quite possibly contributed to the… event.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was too… callous. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She'd managed to convince herself that what Jon was going through was none of her business and maybe… maybe she resented him. For a while.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For being alive, when her Daisy was dead. For somehow surviving a fucking bomb when everyone else didn’t. And then when Daisy was back with her, she resented him for waking up from that coma looking as good as new- or well, as good as Jon could ever look, which… yeah with the scars and the perpetual frown and eye-bags, it’s not much- while Daisy had to struggle for every single step.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And over all, she resented him for involving her in all his bullshit. She’d spent years Sectioned and none of it touched her as deeply as a single month around Jon did. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it’s not that she hates the Archives exactly, she still thinks that working there is … peaceful, but it’s more along the lines of hating what she’d been put through, her and Daisy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So she resented Jon. A lot. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Logically, she understood that it wasn’t his fault. Jon’s caught as much grief as they all did, if not more, and he was struggling, it was obvious to even the most socially inept individual to ever grace the earth. Not to mention the serious lack of any sort of support structure, what with Martin being MIA ( and she doesn't understand what’s going on between those two, but honestly does anyone? She’s just rolling along with it, She’s good at that.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon was struggling, and Basira couldn’t care less.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She'd look at Jon, thin and tired and haggard and feel a slow pervasive anger, one that made it… easy… to look the other way when she saw him, eyes down and shoulders hunched. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It made it even easier to keep her words cold when she spoke to him, words short and clipped, cold even when his eyes widened and face fell and felt more like </span>
  <em>
    <span>prey </span>
  </em>
  <span>than human. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sometimes, she’d remind herself that Jon </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> save Daisy, on those days she would throw a kind word, a fleeting touch. And the </span>
  <em>
    <span>look </span>
  </em>
  <span>on his face, so- </span>
  <em>
    <span>thankful</span>
  </em>
  <span>, so… </span>
  <em>
    <span>happy.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>It made her sick.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It would fill her with shame. What would her parents say, if they could see how cruel she’d become. But then Daisy would struggle getting up from her chair, and any fleeting guilt would crumble away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And the cycle would repeat itself day after day after day, Jon getting steadily worse and she would feel… bad.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Because it's not his fault he is… </span>
  <em>
    <span>was… </span>
  </em>
  <span>what he is. He risked his </span>
  <em>
    <span>life </span>
  </em>
  <span>for Daisy. He's constantly putting himself on the line for them,and she- she did like Jon- she still likes him- the feelings are still there, buried under layers of guilt and resentment, but she did think he was funny, she thought they could be friends. Look at them now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This is the logical culmination of all their actions combined.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon gouging his eyes out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her panic that day is something she’ll never be able to forget, Basira is used to being the one with the cool head, it’s beyond rare for anything to shake her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That, however... </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It… broke something inside her, something sharp and jagged that’s been hurting her since, and she’s not sure it’ll ever heal. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But ya Allah, that scene. She will never forget it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The way Jon looked clutching that damned pencil and sitting in the dark, dark, office with the blood -that is objectively not a lot, but horrific nonetheless-, running under his eyes like tears, staining his fingers and his white shirt collar, the way he smiled, a short fleeting thing when he heard Basira's voice as if he was so damn </span>
  <em>
    <span>thankful </span>
  </em>
  <span>that someone was talking </span>
  <em>
    <span>to </span>
  </em>
  <span>him. The way he was going to insist on not needing a hospital, when his eyes were ruined for good.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The way he lent into her touch when she helped him up the stairs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Guilt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It still burns and curdles at her now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her inaction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sometimes, inaction could be the worst thing a person could do. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But that was then. And this is now. And Jon is doing better, even Daisy is doing better. And Basira is… hopeful.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elias hasn't contacted her since that day and while she's in no hurry to meet up with that smarmy asshole, she still thinks she ought to pay him a visit. They are down an Archivist after all and it won't do for them to be blindsided. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hey."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Basira looks up from her book, Daisy is coming over, she looks… better. She’s still painfully thin, a sort of delicacy that is unique to muscle loss, her hair is longer now an unruly bob that she refuses to get trimmed, she looks- small. Gentle. She looks like someone that should be protected, and Basira feels the responsibility like a vice around her throat. She smiles nonetheless.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You all done?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daisy sighs, tired. "Yeah. You didn’t have to wait for me you know." she adds, leaning on her cane quite heavily and Basira resists the urge to offer her a hand- Daisy will not appreciate it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'd rather wait. It's… better when I know where everyone is." She says, her eyes tracking the fine tremors running up Daisy’s legs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daisy huffs,"I bet." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Basira tries not to think too hard on what she meant. "How did it go?"  she says instead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daisy sighs and finally, </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she deigns to give her legs a break and collapses on the seat next to Basira, she’s trying to breathe quietly, as if ashamed of how exhausted she is. Basira hates that. "Same as usual. Painful. Frustrating. Weak."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Silence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm sorry, Daisy." and this is softer, something private that should have been said a long time ago.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"There's nothing for you to be sorry about." Daisy leans back on her seat letting her legs stretch out in front of her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>" I could have… gone after you. In the Buried."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You didn't even know I was alive in there, besides even if you'd known, there's no way we could have found our way out." Daisy says and Basira knows she’s being illogical but-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Jon did." she says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daisy laughs, small and short. "Yeah, but it's </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jon " </span>
  </em>
  <span>the fondness in her voice is new, Basira doesn’t mind it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A second of silence and Basira lets the truth of that statement wash over her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Let's just head back, we still have got to pick Jon up from Melanie's." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You really should stop babying him, Basira." Daisy says making no move to get up. Whether she’s being contrary or is just tired, Basira isn’t sure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It's not- it's not </span>
  <em>
    <span>babying. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I just don't think he should be left alone now." Basira protests.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Why?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Why indeed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"He's… he's aimless, Daisy. You must have noticed, Jon is distressingly good at putting himself in life-threatening situations." she finally manages to get out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What? You think he'll get himself hurt? -more hurt, I mean." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I think he's going to get himself killed. And that he will think that it will somehow benefit us." She says and lets the words settle between them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Silence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"God. That's depressing." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A huff of laughter. "Tell me about it." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She really hopes this will be the worst of their troubles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Melanie is missing. Because </span>
  <em>
    <span>of course </span>
  </em>
  <span>she’s missing. Why wouldn’t she be? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Missing." Basira states, squeezing the bridge of her nose and praying that she heard wrong.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What do you mean, missing? " Daisy asks, low and dangerous. Basira appreciates when Daisy gets like this. She feels more… solid. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"She's not answering her phone." Martin says, he’s slumped over on the sofa looking as tired as Basira feels. Jon is sitting on the opposite side, knees drawn to his chest and Georgie’s cat is perched in the space between knees and chest, purring away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Jon, can't you-" Basira starts almost instinctively, before abruptly cutting off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon visibly startles at being addressed and seems to sink deeper into the couch. "I- I'm sorry I-"  and he sounds so fucking miserable, so guilty and small and Basira hates herself a little for the slip.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Why does it feel like everything is going wrong today? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everything’s been going wrong for a very long time now.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No matter. This is not the time for this. She has to concentrate. Melanie is missing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Jon, what exactly happened?" Basira asks, trying to treat the situation how she would any other normal case, treat Jon like any other bystander in a crime-scene.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon allows his head to fall back, exposing his throat. She can see his throat bobbing when he swallows, the scar left there by Daisy rises with the motion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Uh- I -I'm not sure, we were talking, I… might have said something- but, she shrugged it off, and then I mentioned the Institute and she… she just went." He says and sounds a little less hounded. Recounting facts.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Went where?" Daisy asks, picking the thread of the conversation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I don't know, she wouldn't answer me when I asked-" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Think, Jon, there must have been something!" Georgie pauses her frantic pacing, standing in front of Jon, her hair looking more frazzled than she’d ever seen it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I- I don't-" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Basira knows she should be putting a stop to this. Georgie isn’t the only one who’s stressed, even Martin is frowning, looking like he’s about seconds from intervening himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Look, just think-" Georgie says, softer, almost cajoling now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>" I </span>
  <em>
    <span>said </span>
  </em>
  <span>I don't know!" Jon bursts out, shouting. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Basira leans back, startled. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t think she’d ever heard Jon shout before, and from the awkward silence that follows, none of the others did either. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Jon repeats, nearly inaudible.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seconds of silence, the cat paws at Jon’s face, he scratches under its chin and doesn’t lift his head up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I… I’m sorry, Jon.” Georgie says, collapsing right beside him and putting a hand on his shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon exhales. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s… okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It really isn’t.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>None of this is okay. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Basira… would like to go home, curl up on her bed with a good book and forget that the world exists. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They sit in the uncomfortable silence knowing that there is nothing they can do and at the same time not wanting to leave. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A phone rings. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Almost as one, they all turn towards the sound. Georgie’s phone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Georgie scrambles off the couch and to her phone, fumbling with the screen "It's Melanie." She informs them, sounding a bit dazed and brings the phone to her ear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They all fall silent as they lean intently trying to listen in on the call. Why the woman didn't put it on speakers Basira doesn't know.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Melanie! Where-" Georgie starts then falls silent as she listens, Georgie is a very expressive person by nature and the way the emotions play on her face is very interesting. The worried furrow between her eyebrows transform into one of slack surprise, then rise in confusion, Basira could spend all day watching her, cataloging the ways her face changes, she remembers doing that as a child, watching people’s faces and imitating them, this is anger. This is sadness, this is- </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Paris." Georgie says, flat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paris? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What are you doing in-" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"That doesn't make any sense, Melanie- no, </span>
  <em>
    <span>don't </span>
  </em>
  <span>hang up-" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Melanie-" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A second of silence where Georgie stares at her phone, disbelieving. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"She hung up on me." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it is like a floodgates opening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Question , exclamations, voices overlapping. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Everyone. Shut. Up." Basira says -not shouts, she doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>shouting- they all fall silent nonetheless. And she spares a moment to feel satisfied.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Georgie, talk.” She says, pointing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s in Paris! What the hell is she doing in Paris?” Georgie bursts out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Paris? Why would Melanie, seemingly out of nowhere, decide to head off to Paris? An express train at that time of the night would have been very expensive. There must be </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>going on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Try to reach her again. I’m going to get some answers.” With those words she stands up, and looks around, everyone in this room is her responsibility, and she will not allow any more harm to befall them. Not if she can help it.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey guys! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I would have posted it much earlier but it's Eid and I was busy ¯\_(ツ)_/¯<br/>So what do you think? I genuinely love Basira. I mean, anyone who can logic her way out of limbo has got my never-ending respect tbh XD <br/>Hope you have a nice day! Cheers!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. III</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>WARNING- Internalized Abelism</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The echoing sound of a clock ticking in an almost empty room, the almost soothing sound of a tape-recorder whirring away, recording what it pleases.</p>
<p>“That’s a surprise. What can I do for you, Detective?” The man gives the impression that he’s been accosted while going through a lovely garden stroll.</p>
<p>“Elias.” Flat.</p>
<p>Silence.</p>
<p>“Not that I don’t appreciate the visit Detective, but I am rather busy.” Clothes shifting, the man is gesturing.</p>
<p>“Scheming?” It sounds almost amused</p>
<p>“Among other things.” The reply is good-natured enough.</p>
<p>“What did you do to Melanie?” the accusation is said almost conversely.</p>
<p>The sound of fingers tapping rhythmically on metal. It’s not obvious where the sound is coming from.</p>
<p>“Miss King? Nothing… but, a little spider might have had a… string attached.” Delicate, weaving.</p>
<p>“The Web? What does it want?” the confusion is well-hidden but detectable.</p>
<p>“I am not omniscient, Detective, much as I would like to be, however, I do know where they took her.” The man offers.</p>
<p>“And that would be?”</p>
<p>“U-uh, Detective, not so fast.” You can hear the smile in his voice.</p>
<p>“What do you want.” You can hear <em>nothing </em>in her voice.</p>
<p>“Many things. But I will settle for a favor, to be decided on later.”</p>
<p>Silence.</p>
<p>“Deal.” Resolute.</p>
<p>“The Catacombs of Paris” and he sounds amused.</p>
<p>“Catacombs? Why?”</p>
<p>Clothes shifting, the man might be shrugging. “I do not know how the Spider thinks Detective, I doubt anyone does. But if I were you, I would… hurry. We wouldn’t want a repeat of what happened to our dear Archivist now would we?”</p>
<p>“You slimy- “the anger is cold, a simmering fury.</p>
<p>“Time’s a-ticking, Detective.”</p>
<p>Chair scrapping over concrete floor, furious footsteps, the door slams aggressively. The man hums to himself, content.</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>Basira is being manipulated.</p>
<p>She’d being manipulated and what’s worse, she’s going along with it.</p>
<p>She doesn’t trust Elias in the least, and she especially doesn’t trust him when he’s sending her off onto a different country to do his bidding, Not after Ny-Ålesund. But Melanie isn’t answering her phone anymore and Basira can’t help the nagging -illogical- suspicion that what Elias implied was true, that Melanie is lying alone and blind surrounded by walls made of human skulls and bones, that this time she will be too late and it won’t be Melanie blind and alive, but Melanie, blind and dead.</p>
<p>Basira swallows the bile that rises to her throat.</p>
<p>No.</p>
<p>The catacombs are a popular tourist site, there is no way something like that could happen without anyone noticing and stopping it … right?</p>
<p>And even if what Elias said was a blatant manipulation to get her there, then at least she will be made aware of what he’s planning? There must be a reason why Elias wants her to visit the catacombs, and she intends to find out (and if she ended up finding Melanie there, then… well…)</p>
<p>She pauses in the middle of the street and gets out her phone, calling Melanie. The number is disconnected. Basira closes her eyes and exhales, she feels… heavy. Burdened.</p>
<p>She looks at her phone screen, barely aware of the irate looks she receives from the passersby and hesitates for a second her thumb hovering over Daisy’s name before changing course and calling Martin instead.</p>
<p>“Hello?” Martin sounds tired but there is no trace of the hesitation that would have been there before, and that more than anything cements her decision. Her hand tightens around her phone subconsciously. Whatever Martin went through with the Lonely, it changed him. If push came to shove, he will not hesitate to do what has to be done.</p>
<p>“Martin, I’m heading off to Paris. Look out for them?” She says. There is silence from the other end of the line, and then a sigh.</p>
<p>“Be careful, Basira, I don’t like this.”</p>
<p>She smiles, small and humorless. “I’m always careful.”</p>
<p>She hangs up.</p>
<p>So…Parisian catacombs it is.</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>Jon feels useless.</p>
<p>He’s used to feeling helpless, that’s practically a requirement for working in the Magnus Institute. Uselessness, though? Now that’s a new one. One that he’s going to have to get used to, fast. He’s starting to realize.</p>
<p>It’s a restlessness under his skin, a compulsion to stand up, do something. Research, or talk to someone or just- head outside and walk where he <em>knows</em> he is needed.</p>
<p>As horrible as the side-effects of the Eye were, its powers themselves weren’t something that Jon hated. In fact, he… liked the powers the Eye gave him. He liked <em>knowing. </em></p>
<p>He liked s<em>eeing </em>and he liked the <em>knowledge. </em></p>
<p>He might have a bit of a voyeuristic streak.</p>
<p>But now he is… human. and a defective one at that. Weak and useless, a burden on the others more than anything.</p>
<p>Not for the first time since accepting Daisy’s offer, Jon contemplates disappearing into the night. Taking nothing with him and just… walking.</p>
<p>Not a chance of that happening, not when the thought of going outside alone fills him with dread.</p>
<p>So useless.</p>
<p>He can’t even contemplate going outside alone without breaking out in cold sweat.</p>
<p>Jon sits on his -obscenely comfortable- bed and feels sorry for himself. The mattress feels strange after months of sleeping on a cot in his office, his room in the new flat is sparse, with all the furniture shoved against the walls to reduce the chance of him walking into something. It’s a decent enough room, he assumes. It’s not like he can see it.</p>
<p>He feels… empty. Awkward. Restless.</p>
<p>His fingers drumming over the soft -so soft, why is it so soft- sheets and suddenly the room feels too small.</p>
<p>Too small and Dark and coffin like.</p>
<p>He needs to get out.</p>
<p>Now.</p>
<p>Alone.</p>
<p>Screw being scared. He is no longer the Archivist, none of the entities will have any use for him, he is in no danger, and Jon is used to being scared. He’s been living with that feeling for years and years and years, ever since he got his hands on that horrific spider kiddie book, it’s a feeling he’s learned to live with, to accept, to internalize and ignore.</p>
<p>If he can’t make himself useful, <em>knowing </em>where Melanie is, then he at least can make himself less of a burden.</p>
<p>Blind people navigate the streets everyday with no trouble.</p>
<p>Jon will be no different. Something simple. He will start with something simple.</p>
<p>The supermarket around the corner, he’s been there once with Daisy, and he knows it’s not far, he won’t have to cross any streets a<em>nd </em>he will have his phone with him. He’s getting quite good at navigating it sightless, the pride he feels at that is a tad embarrassing, but it’s not like he will brag about it to anyone.</p>
<p>His mind made, Jon grabs the cane and carefully makes his way out of his room. One two three, the door, open, one two, turn. One two three four all the way up to twelve and turn again. One two three to six and it’s the front door. The new flat is open floored and convenient with sparse furniture so there are less chances of Jon bumping into something, and the counting is… it’s soothing, precise. He started doing it almost unconsciously, but it has been a great help navigating through the limited space of their flat. It isn’t as convenient for the outside world, but it can’t hurt, nonetheless.</p>
<p>Not for the first time, Jon considers getting a guide dog.</p>
<p>He’s not much of a dog person, He always thought them to be a bit too excitable for him, not to mention they require a lot of care, care that Jon -being the workaholic he is… was…- wouldn’t be able to provide.</p>
<p>Things change though, and as much as he would appreciate having a cat around, a dog would be… more convenient. He wonders if Daisy would mind, she doesn’t seem like the kind of person to mind dogs… it’s something for them to discuss later, however.</p>
<p>He’s a bit excited at the thought. Something to look forward to, after… when everything calms down.</p>
<p>And with that pleasant thought, Jon heads out.</p>
<p>The world outside is… quiet.</p>
<p>He is distantly aware that it’s late, less traffic and the streets are all but abandoned. Jon clutches his cane tighter and swallows down the apprehension, the instinctive drive to head back up and forget about this foolish foray, Jon takes a step almost in protest of the thought and starts counting.</p>
<p>One two three four, on and on and on, Jon tries to concentrate, he knows, where he’s headed- vaguely. It is practically a straight line from the apartment complex to the supermarket, no room for error.</p>
<p>The air is different outside, cold and vast, the claustrophobia is abating, and Jon feels his breathing coming easier, and with every step he takes without stumbling, he feels better. This isn’t as hard as he thought it would be.</p>
<p>He loses himself a bit to the rhythm of counting and walking, slow breaths and even steps, feels like meditation. By the time he hears the automatic doors opening, Jon is feeling… good. He feels calm and pleased and the sound is a sign of his victory, however small it is, he even manages to smile at the cashier when they great him.</p>
<p>Jon wasn’t planning on buying anything, this wasn’t about getting a snack, no this was a… an experiment. Something small to prove to himself that he’s not… he’s not <em>that </em>helpless. Jon wanders around the supermarket and in the end, ends up getting himself a bag of crisps, he’s not sure what kind, it was mostly accidental but the crinkly sound of a bag of crisps is unmistakable, that’s something he could buy without having to ask <em>what exactly</em> he’s holding.</p>
<p>He pays for his snack and makes his way outside of the store, feeling even more accomplished than he did when he finally got his degree, and isn’t that something?</p>
<p>Four-hundred and twenty-eight footsteps from the apartment block to the supermarket. Four-hundred and twenty-eight steps back. Jon is walking back with a new sort of confidence in his steps, one that makes him a lot quicker, a lot less hesitant. He feels good. That wasn’t so bad, he thinks, counting. He’s on step two-hundred and fifty-nine when he feels a presence behind him, and his good mood instantly evaporates. He keeps walking. It might be nothing. It’s most probably nothing. He keeps his steps steady, his breathing even.</p>
<p> His cane bumps into something, and Jon’s breath hitches.</p>
<p>“Who’s there?” He says and is proud of how steady he sounds. And if his hands are shaking a little, he doubts his mugger would care.</p>
<p>“Hello, Jonny-boy.” The voice comes from behind him and Jon feels his shoulder tightening, he drops the crisps.</p>
<p>It’s not a mugger. He… kind of wishes that it <em>was</em> a mugger. He’d… genuinely forgotten about those two.</p>
<p>“Looks like you’re missing something, your eyes, perhaps?” and that nasty voice is Julia. He’s got the pair following him, how lovely.</p>
<p>“You don’t smell like a monster anymore.” Trevor says with an exaggerated sniff, Jon stands as still as he can.</p>
<p>“Such a shame, and I was so looking forward to this.” Julia says, voice heavy with fake disappointment.</p>
<p>Jon swallows, his throat clicks, “look, if you’re here to kill me- “</p>
<p>“What? Do it quick?” She mocks.</p>
<p>“You don’t look like you’d be fun to hunt anymore.” Trevor says, shifting closer and Jon edges one hand towards his pocket, trying to keep his breathing steady. Why now?</p>
<p>“Your hands. Jon.” Julia says, her voice loses its previous playfulness, she shifts closer as well and Jon feels hemmed in. his hands still.</p>
<p>“What do you want?” Jon says. Bravado.</p>
<p>“Many things. Revenge mostly, now that your lapdog isn’t in the way.” Julia is the one that answers.</p>
<p>“Fortunately for you, lad, we got a better offer, better prey too.” Trevor supplements and he’s too close now, Jon can almost feel the man’s breath on his neck.</p>
<p>“Someone wants to see you, Archivist.” Julia says and there is a hand gripping his arm, rough and steel tight. Jon startles and tries to pull his arm free. Julia doesn’t seem phased. Her hand tightens in response and Jon winces in pain.</p>
<p>“Give a statement, if you will.” Trevor adds with a chuckle.</p>
<p>“If that’s a thing you can still do.” Julia says and it comes out mean. Jon is quietly contemplating the merits of just going along with the two… they don’t seem to be intent on killing him for what he did to Gerry…</p>
<p>And they mentioned someone wanting to speak to him.</p>
<p>Who?</p>
<p>“Huh, haven’t thought about that. Wonder what They want with him.”</p>
<p>“Mm, don’t really care, lets just get out of here, this place gives me the creeps.” She says and starts walking, dragging Jon along as if he weighs nothing.</p>
<p>“What? the streets?” Trevor asks, laughing.</p>
<p>“Too urban.”</p>
<p>“Fair.” He says, amused.</p>
<p>Jon, unable to keep quiet any longer starts to speak, “Where-“</p>
<p>He scarcely gets through the first words before a fist hits him solidly in the gut. Jon gasps in both shock and pain, he doubles over -would have fallen if it wasn’t for Julia’s iron grip-</p>
<p>“Do be quiet, lad, or the next one would knock you unconscious.”</p>
<p>Jon falls silent and follows along, meek.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey! so, what do you guys think so far? this Fic grew more plot than I was planning on tbh- but isn't that how it always goes? <br/>Anyway, on an unrelated note, does anyone know what Jon's degree is in? i'm assuming Library science, but I can't find any mention in the wiki. so was it ever mentioned somewhere?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. IV</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>WARNING- Noncon touching. It's not sexual and it's not blatant, but proceed carefully nonetheless.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Jon! It’s so <em>nice </em>to finally meet you!”</p>
<p>The voice is cheery and loud, echoing in the vast darkness he’s been dragged into, and if Jon wasn’t already expecting something- anything, he would probably have fallen over from surprise. Not that Julia would have allowed it, with her fingers digging bruises into his arms… he assumes. She might have let him fall though, it would have amused her, she seems like the type of person to find amusement in other’s misfortune.</p>
<p>“Annabelle Cane.” He says, because her voice is not familiar but the inflection there, the way she said his name, <em>Jon, </em>is one that will haunt him for years and years to come, He is aware of her the same way one would be aware of a predator. The fact that the person engineering his… kidnapping… is supposedly an ally, is not reassuring in the slightest.</p>
<p>(Jon, a professional damsel in distress.)</p>
<p>“Jon, Jon, Jon, the Mother is very… pleased.”  Footsteps approaching, a hand touches his cheek and tilts his head up, Jon tries to Jerk back but is unsuccessful, she makes a mournful sound in the back of her throat, “And you had such lovely eyes too.” She tuts.</p>
<p>Jon lets out a confused sound trying to wretch his head away, there is a scuttling sound, familiar and horrifying and Jon shudders, he can feel his skin crawling and is unsure if there are really spiders walking all over him or if it’s only his over-active imagination playing tricks on him, he shudders, Julia’s hold on him tightens almost cruelly and Jon’s mouth opens in a silent gasp. He’s always been bad with pain.</p>
<p>“Great Job you two, you may leave us alone now and we will discuss what was promised later.”</p>
<p>There is a grunt from Trevor and the sudden removal of pressure from his arm is almost as painful as the grip itself was.</p>
<p>“Promised?” Jon asks, he might be the avatar of the Ceaseless Watcher no longer, but Jon’s curiosity is entirely organic, His Grandmother did always tell him that his curiosity will be the death of him…. He’s not sure she’s wrong.</p>
<p>“Oh, nothing to worry your pretty head over, Jon. Now come, come sit, I’ve been waiting for this for a long time now, it’s not everyday you get to meet the man of the hour.”</p>
<p>“w<em>hat?” </em>and Jon is… hopelessly confused. He is so used to these encounters always ending in pain -<em>his</em> pain- that the sudden civility is leaving him reeling.</p>
<p>“Sit, Jon.” She says, dragging him towards something soft and Jon, helpless, sits.</p>
<p>“What is going on?” He asks, because that’s all he can do isn’t it?</p>
<p>“This, is a business meeting, Jon.” She says, her hands never leaving his skin, Jon suppresses a shudder and tries to stay as still as possible.</p>
<p>“Business.” He repeats.</p>
<p>“Exactly that. Now, first I would like to apologize for the method I used to get you here, Jon, those two are not exactly delicate- those aligned with the Hunt rarely are, mind you- “ She says, rubbing her thumb back and forth over the back of his hand, Jon would dearly like to run away “-but they were convenient enough and I needed you alone. And believe me Jon it w<em>as</em> a struggle getting you alone. Those… watchers of yours are very determined.” She adds with a sigh.</p>
<p>“Wha- you’re… you- did something to Melanie didn’t you?” He asks the realization making his throat tighten and chest ache.</p>
<p>“Oh, don’t look like that Jon, I hardly did anything to Miss King, she w<em>as </em>already planning on leaving, I just… nudged her to travel further than she originally would.” The woman says sounding dismissive. A spider crawls over his thigh and Jon gags.</p>
<p>“Now Jon, as lovely as this conversation is, we really should get down to business, we wouldn’t want your little Hunter friend tracking us down before we’re ready.” She shifts and that’s her knee touching his and Jon subtly tries to put some space between them, he puts a hand beside him to help him shift and comes in contact with something large and fuzzy and Jon yelps, snatching his hand away, shuddering.</p>
<p>Annabelle sighs, “Do be careful where you place your limbs Jon, The Mother will not be pleased if you squish her children.”</p>
<p>Jon shudders and tries to swallow the fear, the disgust, that is urging him to <em>getupgetupgetuprunaway</em>, he <em>hates </em>spiders. Hates them with an intensity he rarely feels towards anything, but he can’t, he can’t get away, he doesn’t know what Annabelle Cane would do to him if he attempted to run away before she allows him to. He resigns himself to not moving lest he come in contact with another creepy-crawly. At least he can’t see them.</p>
<p>His imagination is doing a good enough job at conjuring a room filled to the brim with spiders and he doesn’t need a visual confirmation of his suspicion.</p>
<p>Jon swallows and braces himself. “What do you want?” He says. Get it over with, he thinks.</p>
<p>“I want what you want Jon.” She hums and her fingers land on his head. Jon stays very carefully still.</p>
<p>Annabelle, either unaware of his discomfort, or more likely, not caring for it, keeps touching his hair, tugging on it.</p>
<p>Jon… wants to go home. (There is a sort of proprietary possessiveness in the way she keeps touching Jon and it’s making him sick to the stomach)</p>
<p>“A- and that would be?” He asks, words breaking at a particularly sharp tug. Jon is going to shave his head when this is over.</p>
<p>“Getting rid of Elias Bouchard.” She says, almost conversely, twisting Jon’s hair around her fingers.</p>
<p>It’s hard to think with her tugging his hair, with the spiders crawling around him, above him, <em>over </em>him.</p>
<p>She hums in pleasure.</p>
<p>Jon shivers.</p>
<p>Focus.</p>
<p>Elias.</p>
<p> Why would she want to get rid of Elias? Or a better question, why would the Mother want Elias out of the picture?</p>
<p>“Confused?” She asks with a smile.</p>
<p>Jon stays silent.</p>
<p>“you would be, obedient little Archivist you were,” She says, fond, as if Jon was a particularly silly pet. “Hmm how to put this simply… Elias is trying to Initiate a ritual.”</p>
<p>And that, unfortunately… makes too much sense.</p>
<p>“A ritual. How?”</p>
<p>“How do you think, Jon? You. You were his ritual, you did such a beautiful job stopping him though, and the Mother… well, we assumed that your… actions, would prove to be a setback, unfortunately, The Eye and your Elias are very determined to see it through, and we do like our world the way it is. Can you imagine a world ruled by the Eye? ugh. Horrible.”</p>
<p>Jon was a <em>ritual? </em>There is still a ritual? What?</p>
<p>“So, what you’re saying is… Elias is attempting a ritual. And you want to stop it?”</p>
<p>“Stop him.” She corrects, tugging and smoothing his hair.</p>
<p>Jon tries to ignore it, he does. “A-and the difference is?”</p>
<p>“The difference is that Elias would never stop. Not as long as he’s breathing. If you catch my drift.”</p>
<p>“You want to kill Elias.” He says realization dawning on him.</p>
<p>“I want <em>you </em>to kill Elias.” And the smile in her voice is all teeth, she tucks his hair behind his ear and finally, <em>finally, </em>her fingers retreat.</p>
<p>Silence.</p>
<p>The thought is…. unfortunately tempting, but-</p>
<p>Jon shakes his head. “I can’t- the other… we are tied to Elias; the others will die.”</p>
<p>Annabelle lets out a peal of delighted laughter. And Jon startles, his head jerking up at the sound, “Is that what he told you?”</p>
<p>What?</p>
<p>“A lovely thing about the Web, Jon, is that it allows me to see the strings attaching people together, and the ones tying you to him, tying the others to him, they are laughably thin. The strings tying them to you and your Lonely-touched friend on the other hand. Now <em>those </em>are something.” She adds almost admiring, and he can feel her fingers hovering over his heart, almost touching, but not quite.</p>
<p>Elias lied? That’s… not really surprising… but- this <em>is </em>the web.</p>
<p>“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”</p>
<p>“You can’t.” She says lightly, a finger tracing his cheek, Jon grimaces. “but Elias will stop at nothing to see his vision through, and as long as he lives, you are not the only one in danger, Jon.”</p>
<p>Jon frowns from behind his bandages and before he could ask, she says, tone low and conspiratorial, “Where is Miss Hussain, Jon?”</p>
<p>And Jon- Jon shivers, the lump in his throat gets bigger, his hands shake.</p>
<p>“Basira is- “</p>
<p>“Where do you think he sent her?”</p>
<p>“I- “he tries to get out, the words are heavy, dry.</p>
<p>She lets out a sympathetic sound and pats his cheek, “Think on it, Jon, and when you decide, you will know how to find me. Now let me take you back home.” She says and Jon hates how grateful he feels when she utters those words.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Daisy’s legs are tired. They shake with every step she takes but she can’t stop. There is a low burning sense of wrongness eating at her gut and she’s not sure if it’s warranted or not.</p>
<p>She’s not sure if her… worry… is due to an impending danger or simply a product of allowing Jon to leave without an escort.</p>
<p>Daisy paces and turns to look at the clock. It has been barely an hour since Jon has gone out, and Daisy wonders if It’s too soon to go after him. She doesn’t want him to think that she doesn’t trust him. Doesn’t want him to feel too stifled. Jon needed to go out, he <em>needs </em>to explore the limits of his new… capabilities. And Daisy has always been a firm believer in the sink or swim approach.</p>
<p>She could have followed him though. A couple meters back, he wouldn’t have noticed. She thinks and the thought makes her teeth ache, the longing for The Hunt, for Stalking Her Prey is painful in its intensity. Daisy looks at the front door and aches for the Chase.</p>
<p>Fifteen more minutes. She thinks to herself.</p>
<p>Fifteen more minutes are more than enough for Jon to get the itch out of his system and come back home.</p>
<p>And if not.</p>
<p>If she’d miscalculated…</p>
<p>She’ll find him. If Jon could find his way to her in the Buried, then she could find her way to him out of it.</p>
<p>Jon needed this.</p>
<p>He needed the freedom of choice, of experience with no one hovering over his shoulder watching his steps for him. She could see it in his face, his shoulders, his shortened temper, Daisy understands, she doesn’t appreciate being cooped up either, being helpless.</p>
<p>She understands the instinctive urge to test your limits, to throw off the worry that hangs like anchors over their shoulders and experience the world with its painful entirely.</p>
<p>So, when Jon snuck out in the middle of the night, she let him go.</p>
<p>Now, she’s wondering if she shouldn’t have done that after all.</p>
<p>Daisy blows her hair out of her face, annoyed, it’s shaggy and longer than it’s been in years, she knows it looks a mess, but she can’t bring herself to cut it again. Not now, not yet.</p>
<p>The sound of keys turning in the lock and Daisy snaps to attention, her eyes fixed on the door as it slowly opens.</p>
<p>“Jon!” She breathes out, the rush of relief is heady.</p>
<p>Jon doesn’t startle. He doesn’t, in fact, react at all to Daisy’s voice. He comes in and closes the door behind him, he lets the cane slide from between his fingers and then he promptly slides to the floor and sits down, hiding his face in his knees.</p>
<p>“Jon?” She moves closer, her steps tentative.</p>
<p>There is cobweb in his hair. That’s the first thing that grabs her attention, Jon’s hair is carefully smoothed and held back by silvery cobwebs. Daisy can feel the previous dread crawling back.</p>
<p>Daisy reaches him and slides down in front of him, his shoulders are shaking faintly, and Daisy’s heart hurts.</p>
<p>“Jon.” She repeats, tentative fingers touching his hand.</p>
<p>Jon takes in a sharp breath and his head snaps up.</p>
<p>“What happened?” She asks. And almost without any conscious thought, her hands start freeing the cobweb from his hair.</p>
<p>Jon lets out a laugh, slightly unhinged. Daisy tries to focus on removing all traces of sticky silk from his hair. Jon starts talking, halting and hesitant smelling of fear and disgust.</p>
<p>The more Daisy listens, the tenser she becomes, the mores her teeth ache, the more the urge to get out to tear to rend to kill rise.</p>
<p>
  <em>How dare they touch her pack.</em>
</p>
<p>But Jon’s words are tapering off and Daisy is needed here, now.</p>
<p>She will not give in to the Hunt. Not now. Not yet.</p>
<p>“She’s watching us.”</p>
<p>Jon nods, helpless.</p>
<p>Daisy growls low in her throat entirely unconsciously.</p>
<p>“We have to tell Basira. The others.” She says, fingers clenching and hackles rising.</p>
<p>But Jon… Jon he straightens up and his hands encircles her wrists. Squeezing.  </p>
<p> “Lets… not. Not yet. I- there is something I need to check first, before we worry her, she has too much on her plate already without adding this to the mix.” He says, hesitant but entirely reasonable.</p>
<p>And Daisy… she hates how tentative Jon has become, hates how burdened Basira’s become. Hates how there is nothing for her to do… so if there is any possible way to making the situation they found themselves in any better she’ll take it.</p>
<p>She still thinks they ought to tell Basira, but maybe later. Once she’s back from Paris with Melanie, and it won’t hurt for them to do some digging themselves. About Elias. About the institute and the supposed ritual.</p>
<p>So Daisy sighs and nods, not like Jon could see it, but she nods anyway. “C’mon up, you need a shower, you reek of fear.”</p>
<p>“I… really hate spiders, Daisy.”</p>
<p>Daisy huffs. “I gathered.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I think I had too much fun writing this chapter XD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. V</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Eventually, Jon has enough energy to clean up.</p><p>This in and off itself is a struggle, not only because he’s tired and his skin is still crawling with the phantom sensations of spiders walking all over him. But because showering has suddenly become one of the most dangerous things Jon can do.</p><p>And isn’t that funny, in a world inhabited by monsters and creatures of fear, Jon is more likely to die by slipping in the shower and splitting his head open.</p><p>He’s blind and the tiles are slippery and he’s still not as acquainted with the flat as he should be, Daisy offers to help him, but the thought of her watching him, helping him out of his clothes or whatever it is that the offer of helping entails is enough to get his stomach roiling.</p><p>He knows its not sexual. Nothing about his relationship with Daisy ever hinted towards the sexual, but it makes him uncomfortable, nonetheless.</p><p>So he declines her help and can <em>feel </em>her eyes following him, unsatisfied.</p><p>But that’s the thing about Daisy, she allows him his choices, regardless of how dumb they -usually- are.</p><p>Jon makes his way through the flat, shaky and slow and more affected by the encounter than he usually is. He’s not sure if it’s because it’s the Web, or because he was… well… blind. Helpless.</p><p>It’s not… a nice sensation.</p><p>He needs those minutes-seconds-hours alone, to make sense of everything, reconcile himself with the fact that just because he’s not a pawn for the Eye doesn’t mean that he’s not still a pawn for some of the other entities as well. It is… not fair.</p><p>Even the loss of his eyes isn’t enough to leave him out of this bullshit.</p><p>Isn’t enough of a sacrifice for a little piece of mind.</p><p>He can practically feel the downward spiral his thoughts are taking, and he’s not sure he’ll be able to stop. What he needs, is to not think. To not wallow in self-pity for now; lucky for him, cleaning up is complicated enough that it requires his full concentration and he is able to spend some very nice mindless minutes doing nothing but making sure he doesn’t slip up and die.</p><p>The bathroom door is cracked open- always cracked open- that’s the compromise they reached the first time Jon -vehemently- refused help in there, Daisy is usually good at respecting his privacy but still it is a vulnerability that Jon isn’t comfortable with. Regardless, the door stays open and Jon can hear Daisy walking around the little flat, her foot-falls heavy and exhausted and for a second Jon feels guilty for putting her in this position in the first place.</p><p>Self-pity.</p><p>Ugh.</p><p>Jon shakes his head, if he’s going to overthink everything might as well think about something useful, how to keep Elias from Seeing them to give a not so random example.</p><p>If what Annabelle said- implied- is true, then Elias was using Jon for a ritual. Somehow, Jon was the making of a ritual and now that he’s no longer useful, he’s put his sight on Basira-</p><p>They need to warn her. But more importantly, they need information. He feels the need viscerally, deeply in his gut, the urge to know more, to hoard the knowledge to himself because knowledge is safety and power and currency and that is a feeling that is so wholly Jon, something so entrenched in his being, his craving for knowledge and knowing is all him and he’s surprised by how different the Eye made that sensation.</p><p>With the Eye, all the previous urges were there, it is <em>Jon</em> after all, but there was a… lack of relish. The Eye knew to know. Jon sought knowledge because he <em>liked </em>it. If that made any sense… it probably didn’t but it is an important distinction, knowing what parts of him were <em>him </em>and what parts were the Eye.</p><p>He can see why he made such a good avatar for it.</p><p>When he was in Elias’s office, back before… everything. It wasn’t just Eric Delano’s statement that the Eye didn’t want him to read. He remembers a pile of them, some he couldn’t even stomach glancing at. He assumes that that means that there is something in them that will help him, even if it has nothing to do directly with what is happening, what Annabelle implied, and with Elias’s supposed ritual, then it might help Basira, might help keep the others safe, and if Annabelle is watching him… them… like he suspects she is, then if she sees that he’s looking into what she said, she might be soothed for a while, she might leave him alone.</p><p>Though she did say that she’ll be waiting for Jon to seek her out not the other way around.</p><p>It’s the Spider. He can never trust what it says.</p><p>Statement. Statements in Elias’s office, that’s somewhere to start at least.</p><p>… Statements that he can’t read because he’s blind.</p><p>He’ll have to ask Daisy for help. And Martin. He might know something from those months spent around Peter. It could be nothing… a ploy similar to the one Peter tried to get Martin to believe in, with the Extinction. The Web wouldn’t be that stupid though, it will not use the same ploy as another Entity… not if it knew at least. Or maybe that’s what it wants Jon to think, reverse-psychology?</p><p>Maybe…</p><p>There are too many maybes when the Web is involved, and more often than not, none of them turn out to be true.</p><p>Jon is tired.</p><p>He stands under the stream of water feeling it beat into his back while he carefully keeps his face dry, he wants, more than anything, to not feel like there is a rug perpetually being yanked from under him. He wants to run away and forget that monsters exist.</p><p>“You done in there yet?” Daisy’s voice breaks him out of his maudlin thoughts. Jon clears his throat, embarrassed at his weakness. “Almost done.” He calls back and tries to project as much normalcy into his tone as he can.</p><p>“Good. Because we’re taking a little trip to Bouchard’s office.” She informs him, her tone leaving no room for protestation.</p><p>Jon heaves a sigh and thanks whatever powers out there that Daisy is on his side.  </p><p>**</p><p>Martin can’t sleep.</p><p>He can barely sleep nowadays often finding himself spending longer and longer hours at the Institute. Going through email after email, keeping the door closed and hiding away from the world. The Lonely’s influence, no doubt.</p><p>Or not.</p><p>He knows that he’s still bothered by Peter’s Extinction ploy and its abrupt ending. It’s eating at him leaving him cold and shaking with the certainty that it wasn’t a lie, that the Extinction will creep over them while they’re none the wiser.</p><p>So here he is, so late at night its almost early in the Institute going through every single scrap of paper in Elias’s office in the faint hopes of finding something, anything that would explain what the hell happened here. It’s looking to be a rather… hopeless job, he hadn’t realized before the sheer volume of documents crammed into that office, and Martin doesn’t have handy Eye powers that will help him pinpoint the important stuff from the Junk, and he can’t even skim the papers, he has to read each and every statement because sometimes, the hints, they are hidden through the words, nothing as apparent as ‘hi, hello, here is the apocalypse we’re planning 101’</p><p>It’s very tiring. Martin’s eyes burn and his limbs feel heavy, still he knows that sleep has never been further away and if he is going to be cursed with a long sleepless night then the least he can do is be useful.</p><p>It’s while making his way through a particularly nasty Flesh statement, that he sees it.</p><p>It being a tiny spider waving its tiny arms at Martin in a parody of a dance and Martin is… charmed.</p><p>He’s always liked spiders; he thinks they’re cute and this one is particularly small and noticeable and Martin can’t help but smile.</p><p>“Hi there, where did you come from?” He asks it softly, voice barely above a whisper as he looks around for something to trap it in and release it outside, Jon doesn’t like-</p><p>And just like that he falters.</p><p>Jon isn’t in any position to complain about spiders in the Institute anymore. Martin swallows back the pained noise that wants to come out and turns to look at the spider, tries to distract himself before he could think himself into a downward spiral, The Lonely is still clinging to his skin and it won’t hesitate to drag him down the second his resolve weakens.</p><p> The spider, seemingly glad to have the attention back on it, skitters back and forth before finally moving forward, and Martin blinks. For a second there-</p><p>But no, the spider, is looking back, standing still and looking at him. Martin takes a hesitant step towards it and the spider skitters forward again.</p><p>“You- you want me to follow?” He asks, rhetorically. He wants to say that he feels dread curling in his stomach as he realizes that this is probably the Web, but Martin is just- curious.</p><p>He follows the spider until it disappears into a filing box placed with a pile of other filing boxes on the ground. Martin takes a breath and caries the box back to the desk and upturns all its contents.</p><p>It is, predictably, filled with paper.</p><p>And tapes. He notes with more interest.</p><p>The spider scuttles out of the box, and it may be Martin’s imagination, but the tiny thing looks so offended Martin has to whisper ‘sorry’ to it.</p><p>Martin is talking to spiders. This is a new low.</p><p>The spider, deeming the apology sufficient, dances around the papers before finally stopping on one of the scattered tapes, Martin is already distracted by the prospect of more information to care about the Web’s involvement, doesn’t even notice when the spider disappears.</p><p>He looks around and isn’t in the least surprised to find a tape recorder sitting innocuously on the desk where previously there was nothing at all.</p><p>The statement is… well…it’s damning.</p><p>Martin clutches the tape close to his chest and promptly leaves the Institute, he… can’t keep this to himself.</p><p>*</p><p>Martin Heads towards Jon and Daisy’s place. He would have preferred to show the tape to Basira first, Actually, no- his first instinct was to keep it to himself and try to deal with it without involving anyone, logically he understands how terrible that thought process is, how… horrible everything would have turned out if Martin just went around without telling anyone what he’s doing if only because sharing information is a good strategic decision.</p><p>So he did the exact opposite thing his subconscious urged, he decided to talk it out with someone, and if Basira isn’t available, then Jon and Daisy are more than good enough.</p><p>Even if a small part of him is queasy at the prospect of putting either of them in danger when they’re so… fragile.</p><p>It is… a word that he never thought he’d attribute to either.</p><p>But there has been an… <em>intensity</em> surrounding them that is no longer there, they are… softer, somehow, Jon more so than Daisy, and Martin wonders if its due to the freshness of the separation from their chosen gods.</p><p>He’s almost at their apartment block when he realizes how <em>early </em>it is, not even 6 A.M. and he can feel his steps faltering. He probably shouldn’t be waking anyone at such an hour, let alone dropping in unannounced, but…</p><p>This is important.</p><p>Martin grimaces to himself and looks around, his eyes fall on a little coffee shop just opening for the day and Martin instantly lightens. The place is warm and smells heavenly. The barista is chipper despite the early hour and Martin makes note of the place, Jon would probably find it comfortable.</p><p>He gets muffins and coffee (though he would have preferred tea) if he’s going to wake them up this early, then the least he can do is provide breakfast.</p><p>He checks on the tape almost obsessively all the way through and when he’s finally in front of Jon’s door, it is with a sense of relief that he raises his hand to knock.</p><p>The door is yanked open before his fist could connect with the wood and for a second Martin is startled thinking that Jon had s<em>een </em>him coming.</p><p>But it is Daisy at the door dressed and ready to go, Jon is a step behind her, looking even more drained than usual, the stark white bandages are as usual, jarring to look at.</p><p>“Oh- hi.” He manages to get out while Daisy blinks at him, Jon startles at the sound, and Martin feels warm when a small smile tugs at Jon’s lips.</p><p>“Martin. We were just- heading to the Institute, actually.” Jon says all the while Daisy sends him a strange look, one the Martin isn’t sure how to interpret.</p><p>“Well- I uh- I got us breakfast? And there is something I think you should listen to.” After breakfast he promises himself, listening to someone being murdered is quite hell on the appetite and both of them are already too thin as is.</p><p>“Come in.” Daisy says, leading Jon back with a hand on his elbow, giving Martin the same strange look throughout.</p><p>Martin smiles at her, bright and unassuming and follows along.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I really didn't have any strong opinions on spiders until I looked up what household spiders in the UK look like and i'm just... no. <br/>just. no. <br/>hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! and thank you everyone for your continued support &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. VI</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Basira has never been as grateful for her loose clothes as she is right now. It’s actually quite convenient for hiding bandages and bruises, and with most of her skin covered, it’s almost impossible to tell what she’s been through the last couple of day. This way she could move through the throngs of people without attracting any undue attention.</p><p>Not so easy for Melanie though, who’s got a nasty scratch on her cheek and no way to hide it, it’s lucky that it’s not deep and likely wouldn’t scar. They make an unlikely pair, one tall and sprouting a tangle of blue hair, the other wearing a hijab and a tired expression, both in truly hideous touristy-clothes (the only thing they could find at such a short notice, they must have scared the poor shop attendant within an inch of her life when they appeared bloody and dusty and smelling like rot) they’re walking through the crowded Parisian streets in a hurry to head home, the events of the previous two days playing like a practically grotesque dream in her mind.</p><p>Basira isn’t usually a demonstrative person, and physical shows of affection are extremely hard to come by for her, but now, she holds Melanie’s hand tightly in hers, her knuckles paling with the force of her grip, she would feel bad about it, if it didn’t feel like Melanie was grinding her bones into dust.</p><p>They’ve been walking in silence for a while now, both of them tired and not just in a physical sense, dealing with creatures of fear is… draining. It seeps away your sense of peace your general comfort with the world around you, it turns you into a suspicious husk of a person, drained of joy and feeling nothing but fear.</p><p>Basira grunts as her leg is jostled around and Melanie darts her a concerned look, she steps closer, helping her support her weight as subtly as she can, they don’t stop though, they have a train to catch, and no offense to Paris, but if she never steps foot in that city again, it will be too soon.</p><p>The walk is a haze, mostly due to hypervigilance, her eyes keep darting everywhere, every patch of shadow, every narrow alley, every seemingly faceless person she encounters, Ya Allah if this is how Jon feels all the time, no wonder he is such a disaster.</p><p>Settling down in the train feels like a first breath, and its only then, only when the train starts moving, that Basira allows herself to shake. To take a deep breath and close her eyes and think about what just happened, about escaping by the skin of her teeth if it wasn’t for Melanie-</p><p>“You okay?” Melanie asks, her voice low and uncommonly soft.</p><p>Basira rubs at her eyes and looks sideways at Melanie, she is dressed in a loud purple shirt, the color clashing violently with her hair, her previous outfit ruined by dust and blood, she looks as drained as Basira feels but there is something there, in her eyes, that looks like hope. Basira isn’t sure when she’d gotten used to the dead-eyed resentfulness that hung around Melanie for so very long, but it’s absence now is almost jarring. If only because it’s another deviation from the norm.</p><p>Usually, Basira wouldn’t mind, she is great at going with the flow, rolling with punches, acceptance and forbearance.</p><p>Not so much today.</p><p>Not after spending what felt like months trapped in the dark damp tunnels of the Catacombs, surrounded by human remains, breathing in the dust and resigning herself to a slow painful death, while the walls closed down around her cutting of her access to the outside world, entombing her with the rest of the remains, If it wasn’t for Melanie, finding her, pulling her out-</p><p>Well.</p><p>She has a better understanding of what Daisy went through, so there’s that at least.</p><p>“How did you find me?” She asks, avoiding the question entirely, Basira doesn’t like lying, not if she can help it.</p><p>Melanie shrugs avoiding her eyes.</p><p>“You weren’t in the Catacombs-“Basira continues and then huffs a self-deprecating laugh. “Of course you weren’t in the Catacombs. Why did I think Elias was telling the truth, I really don’t know.” Basira swallows and closes her eyes, leaning her head against the cool glass of the moving train, feeling the faint vibration going through her. Feeling the air around her, the stale air of the Eurostar train is a welcomed relief. Anything would be a welcomed relief, compared to the damp and rot.</p><p>“I’m sorry.” Melanie says, guilt lacing her words.</p><p>Basira shakes her head, keeping her eyes closed. “It’s really not your fault. Though next time you feel the urge to run away, tell someone. We really should work on communication here.” She says trying for levity but feeling the truthfulness of her words. The amount of issues that could be avoided if they just learn to talk to each other.</p><p>Though it’s not really any of their faults. Trust is hard to come by in the Archives.</p><p>Was that deliberate? Keeping them separate and mistrustful? More focused on their supposed allies, on their intentions and movements that they don’t give any thought to their enemy’s scheming?</p><p>What does it say about Basira that she had less trouble believing Elias’s words rather than Jon’s? Skillful manipulation? She could attribute all her actions… or inactions… to the Eye. To the Web. To whatever dread god she wishes, but she would be merely shifting the blame, looking for excuses when none should exist. Her choices. Her own. Her actions. Her fault.</p><p>“I don’t think I’m tied to the Institute anymore.” Melanie says. Soft. Wondrous. Hesitant.</p><p>Basira stills. Her breath coming slow.</p><p>There should be something here. Excitement maybe? Disbelief? It can’t be that easy -and it isn’t, it isn’t easy, it’s not <em>over, </em>not yet- but there is nothing. Basira is drained and tired and she wants to sleep and forget and run away but life will not allow her to run away, she has responsibilities, to the people she cares about, to her people, to the ones she let down. So she sighs and turns her head properly, still resting on the window. Melanie, understanding the attention for what it is, goes on.</p><p>“I felt- nothing. When I got away. It’s been weeks at best since I went to the Institute, and usually- before Jon-… I would go on three days at most before feeling the inexplicable urge to go back, and now- it’s been weeks and I wasn’t really planning to come to Paris, you know I just- I needed to get away, to check if it was all a fluke, to see if I’m really free because I was going to –“ and she stops, suddenly hesitant.</p><p>But Basira nods to herself” You were going to blind yourself.” She says, matter of fact, no judgment in her tone.</p><p>And there really is no judgment. It is… drastic. But Basira is in no shape to judge others for their choices. Not now. Not ever.</p><p>Melanie looks at her for a second, still and wide-eyed, before her face breaks out in a grin, she rolls her eyes and jostles Basira’s shoulder, before wincing, remembering her own bruises.</p><p>Basira’s lips twitch, it’s not funny. Nothing about their situation is funny, but-</p><p>“Yeah. Yeah. I was. I made some arrangements though I wasn’t going to go into it blind. Not like Jon.” Melanie says, voice light considering what they’re discussing and- wait-…</p><p>“Did you just make a pun?” Basira asks, straightening and she can hear the incredulousness in her voice.  </p><p>“Sorry.” Melanie shrugs, unrepentant. There is a small smile on her face though, her eyes dancing with mischief and Basira huffs. She feels… not better. but lighter. She can’t wait to get home.</p><p>There is still some things that need clarification, though.  </p><p>“So you are not tied to the Institute anymore. I assume we all aren’t? It must have something to do with Jon’s eyes, right?” She asks, ignoring the bad taste it leaves in her mouth. The thought that they might be free is… nice. But at what cost?</p><p>Melanie shrugs. “Must be.”</p><p>Basira hums in assent.</p><p>“And you said you didn’t mean to go to Paris. What do you mean?”</p><p>“I… I’m not sure, I just- I was talking to Jon when I realized that I haven’t been to the Institute in a while and then suddenly I had to get away as far as I could you know? Paris seemed far enough.”</p><p>“Manipulated you think?”</p><p>Melanie shrugs. “Maybe.”</p><p>“And Elias sent me after you- supposedly. But not to the same place. He sent me to the Catacombs specifically. Why?”</p><p>“Why does that Bastard do anything?” Melanie says, contempt dripping from her lips, her whole face scrunches up in disgust at the mention of Elias, Basira pretty much feels the same.</p><p>“I… I’m honestly not sure.” And she isn’t. Why would Elias risk lying to her so blatantly, he can’t claim to not have know like he did with Ny-Aalesund. He clearly wanted her there, why? To kill her?</p><p>There must be easier ways to kill her than to send her to the other side of the pond for it, and why trust her -supposed- death to other entities? Why even kill her? She is no threat, she is not an avatar, or at risk for becoming an avatar anytime soon.</p><p>Was he just trying to separate them? Send Basira on a wild goose chase, leaving Jon and Daisy defenseless? No, Martin is still there. Then what exactly was the purpose of this farce?</p><p>Basira is alive -with minor injuries and lasting trauma, but alive nonetheless. Melanie is alive and mostly unharmed -and less traumatized, she assumes-   </p><p>“God. I need a drink.” Melanie says with a tired groan.</p><p>Basira could sympathize, she doesn’t drink, but right now, if she’s being honest, she is honestly tempted. She will not, of course, but it’s nice to imagine it, a bit of escape.</p><p>She lets out an amused breath. “Let’s hope nothing bad happened while we’re gone, and then we could all go for a nice night out.” Basira says, tired and wistful.</p><p>Melanie lets her head fall to the back rest, there is still some dust in her hair, there is only so much cleaning up you can do in a public bathroom after all.</p><p>“God yes. That sounds… nice.”</p><p>They lapse into a comfortable silence after that, none of them wishing to discuss the events that transpired. Basira knows that she will have to recount the whole event to the others later, once they’re home, she doesn’t think she has the energy to do it more than once.</p><p>They arrive at St. Pancras station faster than Basira thought they would, or maybe time’s become wobbly to her after a while, she blinks out of her daze and spends a wild couple of seconds trying to remember where she is, where she’s going, <em>who</em> she is.</p><p>She’s so out of sorts, she doesn’t even mind when Melanie takes over the responsibility of getting them home safe and in one piece, a part of her is horrified at the compliance she’s showing, but Basira couldn’t care less. She wants to sleep. Preferably sleep with Daisy sitting beside her and knowing where every single person she’s supposed to be looking after is. Would putting a GPS tracker on them be too much?</p><p>Probably.</p><p>She might do it anyway.</p><p>“C’mon, let’s get you to your Daisy.” Melanie mutters, all but hauling Basira up, and Basira nods, yeah that sounds wonderful.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I wrote this chapter listening to the sound tracks of an Egyptian series called Al-Nehaya (The End) which is a pretty good post-apocalyptic series, and the soundtracks are phenomenal. give them a listen! it's seriously good music. <br/>Thank you everyone who commented and kudo-ed it all very much appreciated &lt;3 &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So! shoutout to heart_to_pen_to_paper who managed to send me a comment at just the right moment to get the inspiration flowing, Thanks!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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